


Waiting

by fakebodies



Category: The Thing (1982)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Just angst, M/M, enjoy ig???, he's helping Nauls when he's grabbed by the thing and flung against the wall, its really fucking sad, my friend says it's the saddest thing he's read fun fact, so uh in the original script Windows is killed after they do the test, so yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 05:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11373933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakebodies/pseuds/fakebodies
Summary: Mac waits on a cold, bitter end, this time with Windows. He has nothing to say.





	Waiting

Mac manages, somehow, to blow up the thing. He’s not sure if there’s any more of it… he’s not even sure if any of the others made it. Nauls, Childs, Garry, Windows. He tries not to think about them as he trudges through the snow and wreckage, to a less-bloody area where he can sit and die in peace. He’s too goddamn exhausted to push himself any further than the edge of the outpost, if he even makes it that far. Where his legs give out is where he’ll stay, he figures.

  
At least, that’s his plan. As he’s walking he finds Windows, laying face down in the snow, covered in blood. Mac doesn’t feel much of anything right now, but he somehow manages to feel sick to his stomach. He rolls Windows onto his back, looking at his friend’s face. There are ugly gashes on Windows’ head and neck, places where Mac can see Windows’ skull through his hair. He grits his teeth.

  
Mac figures he’s going to freeze to death no matter what, and right now the fires are burning strong, smoke filling the air. He pulls off his coat, balling it up and carefully sliding it under Windows’ head. Windows is still breathing, shakily, and he’s not twitching or making inhuman noises. Mac figures, if Windows is the thing, or if he finds another, healthy Windows he’s still got the flamethrower: he’ll be okay. He unzips his hoodie, tearing off a piece of his t-shirt and holding it in the snow until it’s as wet as it’ll get, starting to wipe away the blood.

  
He gets Windows’ face clean enough that Windows can breathe a little easier and open his eyes. Mac could tell Windows was in pain before, but he looks so desperately at Mac now that it breaks whatever’s left of Mac’s heart. He brushes Windows’ sticky hair back out of his face, lifting him up so he can wrap his coat around Windows’ shoulders. Moving back so he’s sitting against the wall, Mac holds Windows close with one arm around around him. he rubs Windows’ arm, even as his own fingers start to turn colors and ache.

  
As he waits to die, Mac thinks. He doesn’t know what the hell else there is for him to do. He thinks about himself, his life, for only about as long as it takes to remember he fucking hated living. Windows, though. Windows had tried so goddamn hard. Windows had hated it here, putting up with everyone constantly chewing him out even when he’d tried his best. Windows was the only person Mac ever let touch his booze. He forces his eyes back open, glancing at the man laying against his chest.

  
He wants to apologize. For everything. For bringing the creature here. For not figuring out how to fight it sooner. For suggesting they split up like this. Windows meets his eyes, and Mac knows Windows can tell what he’s thinking. He was always good at that, knowing why Mac was upset. Windows releases the fistful of Mac’s hoodie he’d been holding, rubbing Mac’s chest. He leans his head back against Mac’s shoulder and lets out a soft sigh.

  
Mac lets go of the flamethrower, holding Windows close with both arms. He’s too weak to put up any semblance of a fight now, and even with his coat Mac can tell Windows is closer to freezing than he is. Closer to death at least. Mac wishes he could reassure Windows, tell him it’s all just a nightmare. That tomorrow they’ll share a bottle of cheap whiskey and talk about it. That he’ll laugh and agree that Palmer’s a total dick. That before Windows leaves his cabin, Mac’ll kiss his cheek and tell him to have better dreams, because sometimes, rarely, Mac has emotions like everyone else in the world.

  
He can’t do any of that now, though. He doesn’t think he could speak if he wanted to, and he’s not sure Windows could hear him. Windows’ breaths are stuttering and he feels so goddamn cold. Mac holds him a little closer, taking a slow deep breath and closing his eyes. He can feel Windows take one last, shaky breath before dying, still held close against Mac’s chest. With his eyes closed and a dead man in his arms, Mac finally lets go. His bones ache with the cold, and there’s no fight left in him. He’s got nothing left to cling to.


End file.
